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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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A GREAT CITY, 1 



(A Story of a Play of that Nanje.) 



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By L. B. SHE WE LB. 



ior of ' The Venetian Bridal,'" "Rose d'Atilnay," "Patriot Fugitiv 
Mystic Bell, 11 "Widow's Husband,"' "Workmen of Paris,"' 
"Cherries," "Rocambole," "Old Cockade, 1 ' ".Hilda,"' 
"Valdberg," "Hidalgo's Spy," "How to Get a 
Divorce," t: The Exiles," "The Debt of 
Honor," "A Terrible Time," "Flot- 
sam and Jetsam,"' "A Piece 

of Lace," etc. ( "Jj I 384 



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/«7 1 £ 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1884, by C . B. Jefferson, m| 

L. R. Shewell, and T. Jefferson, as proprietors, in the Office g|| 

of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. WM 

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



"WASHiiiTa-ToiNr: 

1884. 



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SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 



Founded on the Play of that Name, and Copyrighted accord- 
ing to Act of Congress in the Year 1884, by C. B. Jef- 
ferson, L. R. She well, and T. Jefferson, in 
the Office of the Librarian of Con- 
gress, at Washington. — All 
Rights Reserved. 



In the year of grace one thousand eight hundred and sixty five, 
Thomas Benson, banker and millionaire, of the city of New York, 
lay dying in the second story front room of the house which he had 
dwelt in for years. The house was one of those old-fashioned man- 
sions on Broadway, which are now rapidly disappearing before the 
march of improvement. The progressive American character is rap- 
idly eliminating all those landmarks of the past, so that the place 
that "knew them once, now knows them no more," and their very 
existence is forgotten, save by some old inhabitant who clings with 
conservative fidelity to the traditions of the past, and will not admit 
that the glitter and regal magnificence of the present day, produced by 
the wild extravaganc of Wall St., can ever eclipse the solid grandeur 
and sterling worth of those old Knickerbocker families, who held their 
court in Bleecker and Bond Sts. The house with which we have the 
most to do at present served Mr. Benson's father, as it had himself, 
in the double capacity of a dwelling and a place of business; and 
Benson's City Bank was noted far and near for its financial solidity, 
and the sterling integrity of its founders. The unstained commer- 
cial record of a century had not been tarnished in the hands of the 
poor old man who lay gasping for breath in the same chamber in 
which he first saw the light some seventy years before. Fortune had 
been lavish of her favors and had showered wealth and honors on 
him without stint; all the happiness of domestic life had been his — 
a loving and devoted wife had brought sunshine to the old mansion, 
and blessed his life with her sweet companionship, but she had been 
dead for fifteen years at the period when our narrative begins. She 
left him, however, a consolation and a comfort in his old age, in their 
daughter Annie, to whom he was fondly attached, and who returned 
his affection with interest. There were also two other inmates of 
his family: George, a nephew, son of a younger brother, whose short 
and dissipated career had speedily brought his existence to an end, 
and relieved his brother Thomas of continually recurring sorrow and 
shame. Tom Cooper, also an orphan, ^the son of an old and valued 
attache of the bank, had also been taken into his household by the 



2 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

kind-hearted banker. As they grew up and their characters devel- 
oped, Annie became a sweet, confiding and affectionate girl. Tom 
Cooper, a noble, manly young fellow, frank and open as the day; 
whilst George Benson, inheriting, no doubt, his father's vices, in- 
dulged secretly in all manner of dissipation, but artfully concealed 
his irregularities from his guardian. The liberal allowance made 
him by his UDcle soon became insufficient for his needs, and he bor- 
rowed all he could from Cooper and his cousin Annie. When he had 
exhausted their means as well as his own, he had recourse to theft to 
supply the means to minister to his pleasures. Mr. Benson had im- 
plicit confidence in those around him, and was plundered with ease, 
whilst George, finding his peculations undiscovered, grew bolder 
and more desperate. At length a pocket-book containing a consid- 
erable sum was missed, and in the excitement attendant on its loss 
George Benson found an opportunity to secrete the rifled pocket- 
book in Cooper's room, and artfully directed suspicion in that quar- 
ter. On its discovery Mr. Benson, grieved and indignant that one 
on whom he had heaped benefits should be so ungrateful and un- 
worthy, whilst he refused to prosecute, yet sternly ordered the offend- 
ing youth to quit his house and never see his face again. The 
circumstantial evidence was too strong against the poor lad, and find- 
ing all his protestations of innocence received with incredulity, he 
sadly turned away from his benefactor's house and went out into the 
world to seek his fortune. Annie became deeply attached to a 
worthy young fellow, whose only fault was his poverty, but George 
managed to poison his uncle's mind against him; the result was, he 
was forbidden the house and Annie commanded to think no more of 
him. Trusting to her father's affection to forgive and re-instate 
her in his heart, she consented to a clandestine marriage, which 
deeply incensed her father, and George, by his lies and misrepre- 
sentations, kept the old man's anger alive, so that he refused her for- 
giveness and would not see her. Young Benson having artfully 
disposed of the other rivals for his uncle's favor, soon had complete 
control of affairs, and the doting old gentleman, believing that the 
others had been ungrateful and disobedient, bestowed his entire con- 
fidence and affection on his unprincipled nephew, and disinheriting 
his daughter, left George Benson his sole heir. 

Mr. Benson, broken-hearted at his daughter's desertion and in- 
gratitude, exaggerated as it was by young Benson, fell sick, and 
grew gradually worse and worse, until his death became a matter of 
but a few days. George, who, taking advantage of his uncle's ill- 
ness, and elated at his brilliant prospects, and the certainty of his 
uncle's speedy death, had given free rein to his vicious propensities, 
and had become desperately involved. The old man, surrounded by 
servants, who were completely in the interest of his nephew, was 
perfectly inaccessible to those who would have revealed the truth to 
him, and brought about a reconciliation with his daughter, of whom 
he raved continually in his delirium. She, poor girl, had become a 
widow, and, with a child three years old, eked out a miserable sub- 
sistence by the aid of her needle. George Benson, the expectant 
heir to his uncle's millions, had already discounted the old man's 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 3 

death, and by the aid of a Jew pawnbroker, Abe Nathans, was en- 
abled to make his regular appearance at the gaming table, to which 
he was a regular devotee. 'Tis an old and true saying, that it is 
"tedious waiting for dead men's shoon," and Mr. Benson's strong 
constitution, which his regular habits had never impaired, kept life 
in his feeble frame with singular tenacity. The shrewd Hebrew, 
finding that young Benson's drafts on his exchequer were becoming 
more frequent and reckless, became alarmed, and positively refused 
further advances without some collateral security, knowing that as 
his client had access to all the valuables in the Benson mansion, he 
could easily deposit something that would secure him against loss. 
• Goaded to desperation, George had that evening taken advantage of 
a moment of insensibility on the part of his uncle and purloined a 
casket of valuable diamonds which had belonged to the late Mrs. 
Benson, and had hurried to deposit them with his Shylock and re- 
ceive a new supply for the needs of the night's debauch. He found 
Nathans at his pawnbroking establishment near Catharine Market, 
grudgingly doling out small sums to the denizens of tliat locality, 
whose needs had driven them to his door with the few articles of 
value their poverty still possessed. Abe Nathans was a pawnbroker 
by inheritance as well as nature; as a baby he clutched at diamonds 
and toyed with gold coins. As he reposed on the ample bosom of 
his maternal parent, and drew his sustenance therefrom, the horizon 
of his infant vision was bounded by the opposite side of the narrow 
dirty street in which he was born, and the flutter of second-hand 
garments that swayed to and fro in the wind, like so many corpses 
dangling from the gallows, took the place in his infant imagination 
of green fields and waving branches. He knew nothing but pawn- 
broking — had never seen anything else; callous to human suffering 
and deaf to the voice of misery, he grew up to manhood with a 
splendid idea of that peculiar vocation. When his progenitor, Abra- 
ham, Sr., "slept with his fathers," his widow Leah continued the 
business with young Abe as her right hand man; and when, a few 
years later, smothered by fat, around what she called her heart, she, 
too, succumbed, and paid the debt of nature, her son laid her beside 
his father, and on her lifeless clay dropped the first tears he was 
ever known to shed, as he feelingly eulogized her as the "best woman 
to run a pawnshop he ever knew." He found himself, at last,' sole 
master of the shop, with a keen training and aptitude for business, 
and speedily put in practice the lessons he had imbibed with his 
worthy mother's milk and learned at her knee. * He throve apace, for 
he was rapacious, and his victims helpless. He was gross and portly, 
always flashily dressed with loud jewelry, heavy watch chains, and 
diamonds; his manner was tyrannical and overbearing, and he was 
harsh and even brutal to those whom misery or dissipation drove to 
seek his aid. The house itself was an old tumble-down affair, and 
being below the grade of the street was reached by a descent of four 
steps; a large bulk window, level with the sidewalk, was filled with 
the heterogeneous display of goods usually found in such establish- 
ments — old china, musical instruments, books, watches, silverware, 
planes, chisels, saws, guns and pistols; pictures of various degrees 



4 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

of atrocity were hanging on the walls; shelves filled with bundles of 
clothing, bedding, etc., with pawn tickets attached, surrounded the 
room. A counter ran across in front of the door with three private 
compartments in it on the left, for the accommodation of those who, 
from sentiments of shame or fear of detection, desired to veil their 
transactions from publicity; but the general public and that portion 
of the regular clientele of the establishment, to whom habit had 
made a visit to the pawnshop a second nature, the Common counter 
was sufficient. The desk of the proprietor was located behind a 
screen where, like a bloated human spider, he could sit unobserved 
and watch the flies swarming to his net. A cosy grate with a cheer- 
ful fire burning in it was the only thing in the apartment that had 
the slightest semblance of comfort about it, and above it over the 
mantle-piece hung a smoky painting appropriately depicting a ship- 
wreck. The clerk, Simon Abeles, was busily engaged appraising 
the goods offered for pawn at far below their value, and Nathans in- 
terjected his remarks and commands, in his usual unamiable man- 
ner. Just at this moment the prodigal Benson entered, and moodily 
flinging the casket of diamonds down before his merciless creditor, 
demanded further advances. He had been drinking heavily, and the 
effects of his debauch were plainly visible in his unsteady gait and 
unstrung nerves. The Jew's eyes glistened as he gloated greedily 
over the diamonds, but noticing the condition of his client he handed 
him a bottle of brandy, and counseled him to take a draught, and 
steady his nerves. Benson, nothing loth, clutched it eagerly, and 
tremblingly poured out a dram, the proportions of which filled Na- 
thans with dismay. He then related the means by which he had ob- 
tained the jewels, but cursed the Jew for forcing him to take such 
an unnecessary risk, as he believed the old man was sinking fast 
and could scarcely last the night through. He, however, insisted 
that Nathans should advance him one thousand dollars more. The 
pawnbroker pleaded poverty, but proffered $500, which Benson, 
with a curse on the Jew's stinginess, agreed to accept. Just as Na- 
thans was about to write the cheque a young sailor entered with a 
bundle in his hand. He was a little the worse for liquor, and wished 
to know if the Jew would advance him something on an ivory ship, 
which he had carved himself, and which was at his lodgings. The 
Jew desired him to bring it to him for valuation, and just as he 
turned to fetch it Benson, who had been attracted by his voice, came 
from behind the screen that had hitherto concealed him, and recog- 
nized him as Tom Cooper, the young man who had been brought up 
with him in his uncle's house, and whose expulsion he had procured by 
secreting the pocket-book in his room. The recognition was mutual, 
and a rather stormy scene of recrimination took place, and Tom fully 
explained that he understood and appreciated how much he was in- 
debted to George Benson for past disgrace and present poverty. 
He had shipped for a voyage to the China seas on leaving Mr. Ben- 
son, and had just returned from a three years' cruise; sailor like, he 
had availed himself of his first liberty on shore to enjoy himself with 
some shipmates, and consequently found himself without money to 
pay his board. His ivory ship he thought might be of some value, 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 5 

and he proposed to raise enough on that to extricate him from his 
dilemma. He had another object in view, too, which was to seek 
his old benefactor, and, if possible, convince him of the injustice he 
had done him. He had also heard that Annie had been driven from 
her father's home and heart, and he had resolved, if possible, to find her 
out, and bring father and daughter once more together. This pur- 
pose he commiAicated to Benson in the course of a somewhat ex- 
cited discussion, and enraged him so much that it was only with 
great difficulty that Nathans prevented a personal collision between 
them, but as Tom left the shop immediately after uttering his defi- 
ance, Nathans succeeded in pacifying Benson with the idea that 
being forewarned he was forearmed. 

Scarcely had the sailor departed, than by one of those strange 
coincidences that brings parties separated for years suddenly to- 
gether again, Annie Standish, George's cousin, entered, leading her 
little child by the hand. She was wretchedly poor, sick, and in sore 
need. She besought the Jew to lend her some money on a valuable 
necklace, the last possession that remained to her, but he treated 
her with such brutal insolence that the poor lady wept bitter tears 
of shame and humiliation. He turned contemptuously from her to 
address some remark to Benson, and incautiously called him by 
name; — she started as she heard it, and, coming to the screen, recog- 
nized her cousin. She implored him to give her some news of her 
father, but he told her brutally that the old man was dying, and had 
nothing but curses for her. Overcome by this news, she fainted, and 
the Jew dispatched his clerk for a policeman to remove her. Just 
then a good-heafted Irish girl of the neighborhood, named Biddy 
Nolan, entered in search of a vagrant cousin of hers, a young jail 
bird and sneak thief, Jim Farren, who had stolen his mother's wash- 
board and flat-irons. And all her sympathies were excited by the 
condition of Mrs. Standish, whom she recognized as living next door 
in the alley, and who had been turned out of the house that day, for 
inability to pay her rent. She insisted in accompanying her when 
the policeman took her away to the station, but before Annie left 
she solemnly addressed George Benson and charged him with being 
the author of all her sorrows. Heartless as he was he could not 
help being shaken by this incident, for his conscience was not en- 
tirely dead within him, but consoled himself with another heavy 
drink of brandy. Nathans, alarmed at the rapidity with which his 
liquor had disappeared, but under pretence of saving his friend from 
an attack of delirium tremens, secured the bottle and put it out of 
Benson's way. Xhey were interrupted by the entrance of Jim Far- 
ren, who brought the articles stolen from his mother, and easily ne- 
gotiated a loan upon them. He recognized Benson as an old em- 
ployer of his, on various delicate and doubtful missions, He was cut 
short, however, in his remarks and curtly desired to leaves, but just 
as he was about to do so, and the attention of the others was divert- 
ed for a moment from him, he saw through the glass door Mr. Ark- 
wright, a detective, who was about to enter, and as he had no desire 
to meet him, for professional reasons, he hastily concealed himself in 
one of the private compartments, unnoticed by the others. The de- 



6 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

tective's business with Nathans was to notify him of the loss of 
casket of valuable diamonds which had been stolen from Mr. Benson, 
and of which he had just discovered the theft and notified the po- 
lice. He warned the Jew not to advance anything on them, and to 
call in an officer and arrest any one offering them for pawn. Ben- 
son, who had concealed himself behind the screen, and was not seen 
by the detective, was filled with consternation, &ad at his exit, 
held an anxious consultation with Nathans as to the 
best means of disposing of the diamonds and evading 
detection. The shrewd cunning of the Jew proposed 
a plan by which they could avert suspicion, and at 
the same time Benson could rid himself of an active and relentless 
enemy, which was in effect that they should conceal them in the 
bundle of clothing inadvertently left behind him by Tom Cooper, 
thus repeating the ruse by which Benson had once before made him 
his scape-goat and driven from his uncle's house. The diamonds 
being placed in the sailor's bundle, Benson slipped out by a rear 
door and the Jew awaited Tom's return. When he did return, bring- 
ing his ivory ship with him, Nathans, by insinuations against his 
honesty, provoked Tom to a quarrel, and he assaulted the Jew. A 
policeman was called in to arrest him, and as he was taking him in cus- 
tody Arkwright, the detective, who had not yet left the neighborhood, 
entered, attracted by the disturbance. He recognized Tom as the 
person whom he had seen on the previous evening climbing the tele- 
graph pole in front of Mr. Benson's house and peering in at the 
second-story window. As Tom was about to leave in the custody 
of the officer, he asked to be allowed to take his ship with him and 
his bundle of duds. Nathans indignantly flung it to him, but it be- 
ing intercepted by the detective and opened by him, the missing dia- 
monds were found in it, and he was arrested and accused of having 
stolen them. Paralyzed by this seemingly overwhelming proof of 
his guilt, Tom can offer no explanation, and finds himself once more 
hopelessly in the toils of his arch enemy, Benson. At this crisis Jim 
Farren, unaware of what had transpired, returned in search of Benson 
and ran into the detective's clutches. He had been accused of unlaw- 
fully appropriating a countryman's watch and wallet, and Arkwright 
had been on the look-out for him. He was hand-cuffed to Tom, and 
thus coupled with a thief and charged with robbejy the poor sailor 
was marched off to the station. Benson, who had been on the watch, 
re-entered by the private door as they departed, and he and the Jew 
exchanged congratulations on their narrow escape and the success of 
their scheme. 

The individual whom pleasure, inclination or business induces to 
take a trip up the East River to Harlem cannot fail to be struck by 
the various public institutions for the care of the city's wards — the 
poor, the unfortunate and the vicious, and which are located on the 
beautiful islands that lie between the Brooklyn Bridge and Harlem 
River. Blackwell's, Ward's, and Randall's Islands are covered with 
numerous massive buildings erected by the munificence of the great 
metropolis. The situation has many natural advantages, for while 
in convenient proximity to the city it is perfectly salubrious, and al- 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 7 

though being in the midst of the great communities surrounding 
them the dangerous classes are isolated from direct contact with the 
body politic. The most important of these is Blackwell's Island, and 
here the convict and the pauper form a small community of 
their own, small only in comparison with the great city in 
whose shadow it lies, but thickly peopled by those whom 
vice, poverty or crime have compelled to a forced residence 
therein. In the reception room, attached to the penal institution, a 
gentleman in severe clerical costume, was inquiring of a turnkey, 
concerning a convict by the name of James Farren, whom he wished 
to see. He was accompanied by our old acquaintance, Nathans, who 
seemed somewhat subdued in manner, at finding himself voluntarily 
vithin the walls, in which he felt that he deserved to be an inmate, 
nore than many who were incarcerated there. The reverend gentle- 
nen, who seemed .to be armed with permission from one high in au- 
thority, was treated with extreme deference by the obsequious offi- 
cial, and his request was speedily complied with. As Jim Farren, 
clad in prison garb stood before him, he appeared strangely suspi- 
cious of his interrogator, until the turnkey leaving them alone, the 
Reverend Mr. Plumgullion cast off his disguise, and appeared as Mr. 
xeorge Benson. The object of his disguise and visit, was soon 
nade apparent. He desired to assist Farren to escape from the 
Island, and for that purpose had heavily bribed the officials to assist 
his flight. He had provided a boat, which would be moored near 
the gate, at which Farren was to escape, and in it, he would find a 
nit of clothes to take the place of that provided by the State, as 
bat was so peculiar in pattern and cut that it might excite attention 
vhen he returned to civilization. But (as George Benson's selfish 
nature never conceived any plan without a motive that should bene- 
fit himself first, last and always), he imposed as a condition, that Jim 
should steal the child of a poor woman who lay dying in the pauper 
ward, and take it with him in his flight, disposing of it as he crossed 
the river. The motive in this case will be understood, when the 
reader learns that the dying woman is Annie Standish, and that her 
child was the sole heiress to Thomas Benson's enormous wealth. In 
a moment of remorse Mr. Benson had destroyed the will he had been 
induced to make in favor of his nephew, and left him instead, the 
guardianship of Annie's child, with the reversion of the estate in 
event of her death. Although he could not forgive the daughter 
who had so deeply wounded him, and broken his heart, he would not 
disinherit her child. Farren eagerly agreed to abet young Benson 
in his villainous scheme, and promised to make the attempt that 
very night. Benson had provided him with the means to break out 
of his cell, and once clear of that, the rest was comparatively easy. 
All being settled to their satisfaction, the worthy trio parted, the ' 
Rev'd Mr. Plumgullion and his Hebrew friend returning to the city 
to await results, and young Mr. Farren rejoining his convict asso- 
ciates, to mature his plans for escape. By a strange chance, Jim had 
never been separated from Tom Cooper since the day they were ar- 
rested together. Together they had been tried, sentenced on the 
same day, consigned to the Island in the same batch of prisoners, 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 



and placed in the same gang to work — their cells adjoined one an- 
other, and jointly they had concocted a plan for escape, prior to the 
opportunity now afforded. With this purpose they had partially 
cut through the bars of Cooper's cell, which looked out upon the 
jail yard, and Jim had burrowed a passage from his own cell into 
that of his chum. He was unskilled in the use of a boat, whilst 
Tom, as a sailor, knew all about it, besides, as he had to pass 
through Tom's cell to gain the yard, he could not well avoid making 
him a confidant, so he resolved to make him also the companion of 
his flight. Liberty is sweet to all, and he had little trouble to per- 
suade Tom to accompany him. He was, of course, ignorant of the 
connection existing between Cooper and Benson, but it is extremely 
doubtful if he had known it, if it would have altered his plans, for 
he was as selfish as his employer. Their cells were located directly 
under a portion of the pauper ward, which was used as a hospital, 
and in the room directly over them, Annie Standish was breathing 
her last, attended by the faithful friend Biddy, who took advantage 
of every moment she could spare from her own laborious struggle 
for existence, to comfort and nurse the lonely wretched woman. 
She felt that the supreme moment was near at hand, and could not 
desert her in her bitter hour of need. Annie lay dreamingly on her 
pillow, and although physically weak, her mental vision was unob- 
scured, and she was busy with memories of the past, and anxious 
thoughts for the future of her child. Her mind reverted to the 
home of her childhood ; again she heard the singing of the birds, and 
watched the flowers blossom, while tall trees waved above her, and 
merry voices floated out upon the fragrant air — again a mother's lov- 
ing breast was her pillow, and a father's good night blessing soothed 
her infant slumbers. Alas! the mother's lips that pressed her brow 
so fondly, had long since mouldered to dust in the little church- 
yard, and the neglected grave was overgrown and choked with 
weeds, the father's heart had turned to icy hatred, and their un- 
happy child was alone and unfriended in the world, save by the 
kindly Irish girl, whom fate had made her only friend. With a ner- 
vous start she awoke from her reverie, and calling Biddy to her, 
begged her to bring the child, which was sleeping soundly in a 
corner of the room. She brought the baby to its dying mother, who 
solemnly commended it to her care, receiving a pledge from her 
that she would never desert her. Overcome by this last effort, and 
the excess of her emotions, she fell back in a swoon, which was only 
the precursor of death. The doctor entered, and jointly they 
watched in silence and sympathy the flickering light of life go out, 
and the immortal soul escape in one long drawn sigh from the pallid 
lips. The green shadow from the wing of the angel of death passed 
over the face for but an instant, and then flashed away, leaving it 
white, and marble like in its stillness, and they knew that all was 
over, and the weary one was at rest. During this time, Jim and 
Tom had not been idle, and had succeeded in cutting their way 
out of their cells, and while the Doctor and Biddy were occupied 
with Annie, Jim entered stealthily through a window at the back of 
the room he had reached by the aid of a low shed, which he had 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 



easily scaled. On tip toe he approached the sleeping child, and 
placing over its face a sponge saturated with chloroform, carried it 
noiselessly to the window, and departed as he came. Tom, who 
had been made to believe that it was Jim's own child, whom he 
wished to take with him, received it from him, and when Jim re- 
joined him on the ground, they began cautiously to make their es- 
cape, unchallenged by the corrupt officials. They found but little 
interruption until they reached the last gate, where they barely es- 
caped encountering a turnkey who had not been bribed. They were 
yarned by one of the warders who was in the plot, and fortunately 
had time to conceal themselves in an old tool house. The one faith- 
ful custodian was piped off by his corrupt coadjutor, and as he left 
the gate open for a moment, the convicts seized the opportunity to 
get on the other side of it before his return. They concealed them- 
selves behind the wall until he had locked the gate and departed, 
and then entered the boat, which they found according to promise 
aoored among the rocks. Under Tom's sturdy strokes the boat 
oon bore them away from prison bars to life and freedom. In their 
vay lay the rocks at Hell Gate; when they reached that place Jim 
proposed that they should land in order to enable him to change his 
convict suit for the one which had been provided for him. Once on 
the rocks, and while Tom's back was turned Jim resolved to rid 
himself of the child by tying it to the anchor and flinging it over- 
board, but Tom turning quickly detected his purpose, and attempted 
to prevent it. Jim dashed him to the ground, and before Tom could 
regain his feet he flung the child into the river. Tom was about to 
dive after it when Jim seized him by the collar, but Tom slipped 
out of his jacket and plunged in. Jim lost his balance and fell 
backward, but recovering himself seized a large rock, and poised it 
above his head, waiting to strike Tom with it when he should re- 
appear. As he was standing thus a shot was fired, and Jim fell into 
the river, apparently wounded. A patrol boat came swiftly in sight, 
and taking him in carried him on up the river. A baby's arm was 
seen to waive above the water for a moment, and the next Tom rose, 
clinging to the rock upon which he clambered with the baby's arms 
convulsively clasped about his neck. Exhausted he fell upon the 
rock, a heavy cloud drifted from before the face of the moon, the 
shadows were dispelled and bathed in the pure effulgence of her light, 
our hero, panting for breath, eveloped the little shivering orphan in 
his jacket. 

Fifteen years has elapsed since the incidents last related occurred, 
and time had brought many changes to our old friends. We find 
them in one of those low-roofed houses, part dwelling and part boat 
house, which are to be found on the banks of the Harlem River and 
extending even around the bend into the East River. They all have 
the same general character, sails, oars, masts, nets and fishing tackle 
are to be seen in every available corner; whilst across the entire 
width of the house a broad porch extends, usually covered by an 
awning, and with a flight of steps leading down to a landing stage 
in the water around the house, which is generally built over the 
water, lie at anchor a miniature fleet of small craft of all descrip- 



10 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

tions. from the small batteau and racing shell to the sail boat of 
two or three tons, which can accommodate a club for an excursion 
down the harbor. There is excellent fishing, however, directly- 
opposite, and many New York fishermen make piscatorial 
excursions that do not take them out of sight of their loved 
city, whilst affording them a fair degree of sport. It is the 
early fall of 1881, and Pop Tobin, the proprietor of the boat 
house, but from his age and infirmities, past all work, is seated near 
the open fireplace in a large arm chair, and smokes his dhudeen as 
he croons an old Irish ballad, and in imagination revisits once more the 
" Ould sod." Biddy Ronan, buxom and cheerful, but grown a trifle 
older and stouter, is his housekeeper. Tom Cooper, now a handsome 
fellow, thirty-five years of age, is the bread-winner of the house, and 
spends most of his time on the river in his boats. On the night of 
his escape from BlackwelPs he landed at Pop Tobin's, and, confiding 
all to him, found shelter and employment and a hearty welcome for 
himself and the little orphan who was his companion. Biddy, who 
had seen the child by accident about a year after she had disappeared, 
recognized her by the necklace which the dying mother had elapsed 
about her neck. She was readily persuaded to forego her special 
claims and share the guardianship with Tom Cooper (who had as- 
sumed the name of Hardy, for purposes of concealment) and Pop 
Tobin. By a singular fatality no one knew anything about the 
child's parentage. Tom, who had never met Annie since leaving her 
father's house, and had never heard her married name, Had no": the 
slightest suspicion that the child he was protecting was his old ben- 
efactor's granddaughter, and Mrs. Standish had so jealously con- 
cealed her identity, even from Biddy, that she, knew nothing more of 
her than had come under her own observation. Therefore they sup- 
posed the child an orphan, without kindred, or even friends save 
themselves. Tom had grown a full beard, and was so changed in 
appearance that he would not be recognized, and as so many years 
had elapsed he felt secure from detection. But the child, Nellie, 
who was the center of all their thoughts, as well as the object of 
their fondest care, had not yet returned home, although she had been 
anxiously expected. The occasion was one of great interest to them 
all for it was the birthday of the child rescued from death by Tom 
some fifteen years before, within sight of their doors. The members 
of the little family had all provided gifts in "honor of the event, and 
impatiently awaited the return of the one who was so dear to them 
all. They had not long to wait, however, and Nellie, the sunbeam 
of their home, soon danced joyously into their midst. She carried 
a basket filled with autumn leaves, aad had grown to be a tall, well- 
shaped, handsome girl of eighteen. She was glowing with health 
and excitement, and affectionately greeted her friends. She received 
their gifts and congratulations with childish pleasure, tempered by 
womanly dignity. But that was not all. She had been promised by 
Tom that he would relate the story of her life, to which she was yet 
a stranger, and with eager impatience she urged the fulfillment of 
his promise. He told her that in the evening she should know all. 
Satisfied with this she carried her gifts to her own room, and Pop 






SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 11 

Tobin retired to bed. As soon as Tom found himself alone with 
Biddy, he confided to her the fears that disturbed him. He dreaded 
the effect the disclosure might have on Nellie, and most of all he 
shrank from confessing to her that he had ever been a convict, lest she 
should shrink from him and he should forfeit her respect and esteem ; 
and yet he did not see how he could avoid telling her the truth, and at 
the same time explain their meeting at Hell Gate. Biddy encouraged 
and advised him to avoid all reference to the convict question, and 
explain their meeting on the river as purely accidental. In the 
Durse of the interview Biddy discovered, with a woman's keen 
perception in such matters, the true state of Tom's feelings toward 
Nellie, for unconsciously to himself he had fallen in love with the 
beautiful girl, and even now would not confess the secret to himself. 
3ut Biddy revealed it to him, startling him with the discovery; at 
first he would fain deny, but finally avowed it, and penitently made 
confession. She urged this as an additional reason for him to avoid 
all allusions to his convict life, and relate Nellie's story with that 
exception, as it had no bearing upon the main story itself ; with this 
understanding, they called Nellie, and, seated between her two 
friends, she learned for the first time that they were no kin of hers, 
but that she was an orphan waif whom chance had confided to their 
care. All that Biddy knew or could tell her of her mother was, 
that she was wretchedly poor, and had been sent to the pauper's 
yard on Blackwell's Island, where she died. Nellie was much af- 
fected when she learned the truth, and Tom delicately left her alone 
vith Biddy to recover herself. Biddy sounded the young girl on the 
subject nearest her heart, and finding that Tom's affection was recipro- 
cated, as Nellie artlessly confessed it to her, in reciting her deep, ob- 
ligations and gratitude to him; and she begged her to thank him in 
her name, as she felt she could not adequately do so. Biddy urged 
her to do it herself, and Tom, re-entering opportunely, she left them 
together, and the consequence was, a mutual explanation, and Nel- 
lie and Tom became engaged. They were- absorbed in their happi- 
ness when a knock was heard at the door, and a broken-down tramp 
entered and asked for food. Nellie hastened to the kitchen to pro- 
cure it for him, and instantly returned, but in the brief moment of 
her absence the two men had recognized each other. The tramp 
was none other than Jim Farren, his former convict pal, whom Tom 
had thought dead, but who had now risen as if from the grave and 
confronted him, just as he had reached, as he thought, the very pin- 
nacle of happiness. He knew that he had nothing to hope from Jim's 
mercy, and, crushed by the fear of discovery, and of being shamed 
before Nellie, he bowed his head upon his hands and was sorrow 
stricken. As Nellie returned and handed the tramp the food she 
had brought he fixed a steady gaze upon the necklace she wore 
about her neck. He knew by it that he could not be mistaken, and 
that he had found in the same moment his two companions of that 
eventful night, and chuckled with satisfaction at the thought that he 
could gratify revenge by exposing his former pal, and win a princely 
reward for discovering Thomas Benson's lost heiress. Nellie, alarmed 
at his earnest look, crossed quickly to Tom, whose despondent atti- 



12 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

tude filled her with vague unrest, and stood in wondering bewilder- 
ment as Jim bowed himself out, muttering his thanks, and chuckling 
at the discovery he had made. . Cll~ I 

After a night passed in restless anxiety, Tom, who had brooded 
over the events of the last few hours until thought had almost be- 
come a torture, was seated at the table, his head bowed upon his 
folded arms. Biddy, who had entered unperceived, softly approached 
him and rested her hand affectionately on his shoulder, but at her 
touch he started up, and as he looked into her face she saw with 
dismay the change that had come over him since she left him on the 
previous night, and to her eager questioning he answered with the 
relation of Jim's visit and recognition of him, — his fears for the re- 
sult, and his resolve to depart at once before it was too late. She 
agreed with him as to the wisdom of his course, and he began to 
make hurried preparations for his departure, assisted by Biddy. Her 
absence from the apartment for a brief moment afforded the oppor- 
tunity to Jim for which he had been watching, and, boldly entering, 
he demanded a full recognition of their former association. He de- 
nounced Tom for having thwarted him in a scheme which would 
have made his fortune, and demanded hush money. Tom, at first, 
tried to deny his identity, but Jim persisted, and becoming louder 
and more insolent, Tom, who feared that Nellie would overhear, ad- 
mitted that he was the man whom Jim had sought so long. He 
shared the small amount of money he had with Jim, hoping thereby 
to purchase his silence, and urged him to leave him after having 
promised to see and help him further; as he was about to depart, 
Nellie entered the room and overheard the last words that passed 
between them. They did not tend to reassure her, and clinging to 
Tom, she implored him to tell her the meaning of the strange change 
in his manner, and the singular influence that the tramp seemed to 
exercise over him. He endeavored to reassure her, but his evasive 
answers only alarmed her still further. At this juncture Jim re-ap- 
peared at the back of the cottage accompanied by George Benson, 
to whom he pointed out the couple and then retired. Benson 
listened intently for a few moments, and then coming forward claimed 
Nellie as his ward under the will of her grandfather, the late Thomas 
Benson. Finding that Tom was determined not to part with Nellie, 
Benson called to his assistance the detective, Arkwrighr, whom he 
had kept in waiting outside for any emergency. Tom could not 
and would not believe that Nellie was the person whom they sought, 
but Biddy having entered, inadvertently confirms Benson's state- 
ment, that the child was the daughter of Mrs. Standish, whom Ben- 
son declares was Thomas Benson's daughter. He persisted in his 
rights as a guardian, and urged, furthermore, that it was unjust to 
the girl herself to keep her hidden in such obscurity, when wealth 
and station were awaiting her. Convinced by this argument, and 
shrinking before the insinuations of Benson, that his opposition pro- 
ceeded from mercenary motives, Tom withdrew his opposition and 
urged Nellie to follow her guardian. She refused point blank to 
leave her good friends. Benson sneeringly re-echoed her words, 
and calling in Jim, whom he introduced as a thief and ex-oonvict, 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 13 

the latter claimed Biddy as his cousin. Although shocked, Nellie 
was firm in her refusal, and clung to Tom. Stung by her opposition, 
Benson denounced him as an escaped convict with an unfinished 
sentence to serve, and his words are corroborated by Arkwright. 
Nellie turned to Tom and demanded of him if this accusation was 
true, refusing to believe it from any other lips but his. Tom with 
bowed head confessed that it was true, but earnestly protested his 
innocence. Nellie, broken-hearted at this revelation, fell weeping 
into a chair, whilst Benson attempted to console her by picturing 
her immense wealth and what she could accomplish with the un- 
bounded power it conferred. She listened intently, and starting to 
her feet declared her purpose to devote herself and fortune to the 
vindication of Tom's good name and the proof of his innocence. At 
this unexpected denouement Benson was filled with baffled rage. 
The detective looked surprised, and Jim stared from one to the other 
in open-mouthed wonder. Tom, falling on his knees with clasped 
hands, thanked heaven that Nellie was true, and Biddy expressed 
her satisfaction with true Milesian exuberance. 

A year hatd passed since the events recorded in the last chapter, 
and Nellie had been installed under the guardianship of her cousin, 
George Benson, in her grandfather's old mansion on Broadway, 
with no other companion than the faithful Biddy, whom she 
had insisted should accompany her. Of her guardian she 
saw but little, for he had taken to gambling heavily in stocks on 
Wall Street, and had grown morose and gloomy under his losses. 
His moody temper made little impression upon his ward, as she bad 
grown heartily to dislike him; she avoided him even when be was in 
the house, so that days sometimes passed without their meeting. She 
was not idle, however, and had not forgotten her pledge of fidelity 
to poor Tom, who was serving out his unexpired sentence at Black- 
well's. His restoration to freedom, and the vindication of his name 
had been her sole thought since they parted, and she and Biddy 
talked of him incessantly. She had for some time been in negotia- 
tion with Arkwright, the detective, who had become convinced that 
wrong had been done in some way, and had enlisted all his energies 
to assist Nellie in her task of clearing her lover. He had discovered 
that Nathans could throw some light upon the subject, but the wary 
Israelite was cunning and cautious. He demanded a large sum as the 
price of his revelations, but would give no assurance that those disclos- 
ures would fully exculpate Cooper. The detective had various clandes- 
tine meetings with Nellie on the subject, while Biddy kept watch 
that they might not be interrupted by Benson, whose suspicions they 
did not wish to excite. Nellie ordered Arkwright to pay Nathans 
whatever he demanded, but to obtain his evidence at any cost. 
While engaged in this discussion, they were warned by Biddy that 
Benson was returning, and Arkwright barely had time to conceal 
himself on the kitchen stairs, while Nellie retired to her room. Ben- 
son returned in a terribly ill humor, and the cause was soon per- 
ceived, as he feverishly scanned the columns of the Evening Tele- 
gram, and read therein an article announcing the second escape of 
Cooper from Blackwell's. Whilst Cooper was at liberty, he knew 



14 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

he had everything to fear. Harrassed by his losses on Wall Street and 
at the gaming table, he saw ruin before him with Nellie's approach- 
ing majority, when he would be compelled to render up an account 
of his stewardship. He had endeavored to win her favor, in the hope 
that if he could persuade her to a marriage and could thus balance 
his accounts as her guardian, but he only succeeded in securing the 
girPs aversion, for she repulsed all his advances with scorn. Baffled 
in this hope, he gambled more desperately than ever, but fortune 
refused to smile on him, and daily he became more deeply involved. 
He found Biddy waiting for him to open the iron vault safe, which 
was built in the wall, and which formerly served to protect the valu- 
ables of the bank, but since the discontinuance of business had been 
used as a receptacle for the family plate which was in daily use. 
While thus engaged, she entertained him by relating a ghostly ex- 
perience of the previous night, in which she declared that Nellie's 
mother appeared to her and reminded her of her promise to watch 
over and protect her child. Benson laughed at her superstitious' 
fears, but was nevertheless troubled by them. Just at this moment 
the door bell rang, and Biddy admitted Nathans, who by* his manner 
clearly convinced Benson that he was on business of unusual impor- 
tance. Not wishing to be overheard, Benson took him up to the 
drawing-room, leaving Biddy still storing the plate away. Jim Far- 
ren, who is Biddy's cousin, had called to see her, and she had been 
giving him some supper in the kitchen, but he growing impatient at 
her long absence sneaked up stairs, and peeping into the room saw 
how she was occupied. His cupidity was excited by the sight of the 
massive old plate, and he endeavored to get a further insight into the 
contents of the vault. Biddy, who had no faith in his honor or hon- 
esty, repulsed him, and he jestingly pretended to shut her in the vault, 
to her great terror, as she knew it shut with a spring, and feared lest 
she could not get out again. Jim seized the opportunity to purloin 
the key, with an eye to future professional operations, and Biddy 
succeeded in driving him back to the kitchen, just as Benson and 
Nathans returned from the drawing-room and re-entered the .office. 
Benson testily dismissed Biddy for the night and she disappeared 
down the kitchen stairs, in order to get Jim out of the house. As 
she departed a female figure, all in white, was seen noiselessly glid- 
ing down the stairs, and going to the closed door of the office she 
listened intently. It was Nellie, who had been on the watch above. 
A stormy discussion took place between Benson and Nathans, in 
which the former unsuccessfully attempted to resist the latter's extor- 
tions, but finally submitted to them. Nathans announced that he 
had been approached, to tell all he knew concerning Tom's incarcer- 
ation and the causes that led to it, and intimated that pecuniarily he 
could drive a much better bargain with the other party, but friend- 
ship induced him to give the preference to Benson. Benson, seeing 
that he was in the toils, drew a cheque for the amount demanded by 
Nathans, and that worthy withdrew after bidding his host good-night. 
As Benson returned to the room, after showing Nathans out and 
locking the front door, he was confronted by Nellie, who told him 
that she had heard all, and would denounce his villainy. Benson. 



SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 15 

endeavored by persuasion and threats to dissuade her from giving 
him up to justice. She refused, and her refusal exasperated him be- 
yond all control. He attempted to seize her and she evaded him, 
overturning the light in her endeavor to escape, and the room was 
left in total darkness; she reached the door but Benson had already 
locked it. She then groped her way by means of the wall to the 
window, which was heavily curtained; as she pulled the curtains 
aside the moonlight streamed in and revealed her to Benson, who, 
rushing upon her, threw his overcoat over her head and forced her 
back almost smothered into the vault, then closed the door, which 
shut with the quick snap of a spring. He felt for the key, it was 
gone; a cold perspiration broke out upon his forehead and he trem- 
bled in every limb as he sought eagerly on the floor for it, thinking 
it had fallen out. He had gone too far now to retreat, and in a short 
time the unhappy girl would die of suffocation in the vault, which 
was entirely without ventilation. But the key he must have for his 
own protection, and he sought eagerly for it on the floor. While 
thus engaged, Biddy was seen hurriedly descending the stair case. 
She rapped impatiently at the closed door, and Benson starte d with 
all the consciousness of detected guilt. He demanded her errand. 
She was in great alarm, and came to announce to him that Nellie 
was nowhere in the house. Benson, anxious to gain time and get her 
out of the way, readily yields to her suggestion to go to the police 
station and give the alarm that his ward has been abducted. Biddy 
hastened on her mission, but ere she went cautioned Benson to look 
after the fire which she had left burning in the kitchen. Her words 
and caution suggested the idea to Benson to fire the house and thus 
conceal his crime, and get rid of Nellie as well. The room below 
the office was an old lumber room, which had been used to store the 
archives of the bank in its prosperous days, and was filled with old 
papers. Benson hastily improvised a torch with an old newspaper, 
and throwing open the trap door descended into the room below. 
After a moment's pause, a light appeared at the window at back of 
room and Jim Farren appeared armed with a bull's eye lantern to 
carry out his intention of burglarizing the safe. He applied the key, 
the door swung open, and he was appalled to see standing in the 
narrow door-way a figure all in white, the exact counterpart of the 
ghost described by Biddy. To Jim's startled senses it seemed the 
same, and he crawled under the table in abject terror. Helen 
staggered forward a few steps and fell fainting on the floor, but after 
a moment slowly recovered, and seeing the reflection of the fire from 
the room below realized her peril, and rushed to the street door to 
make her escape, crying help ! as she did so. The noise attracted 
Benson's attention and he quickly came up the trap, and seeing that 
she had escaped seized his revolver which he had left on the table 
and fired at her as she stood at the door, which she vainly endeav- 
ored to open, as he had locked it to prevent intrusion after Biddy's 
exit. Startled at the shot, she turned and quickly fled up the stairs, 
pursued hf Benson. Jim, who had seen and heard all, scrambled 
from under the table and was making his way to the window, when 
he, was confronted by Tom Cooper, who had made his way after his 



r 



16 SHADOWS OF A GREAT CITY. 

escape to the house, in the hope of seeing Nellie. A hurried ex- 
planation took place between them, and they too darted up the stairs 
in pursuit. Nellie's cries were heard, and an occasional shot from the 
revolver. She appeared at the second-story window for a moment, 
but quickly continued her flight, still pursued by Benson, who, find- 
ing himself in turn pursued, barricaded the door behind him with 
heavy furniture. Tom and Jim being unable to remove the obstruc- 
tion, or break down the door, Jim suggested that Tom should climb 
the lightning rod on the outside of the house. He attempted to do 
so, but as he reached the third story Benson looked out of the win- 
dow and with a heavy blow from the butt end of his revolver nearly 
felled him to the ground. Jim, however, caught and sustained him 
until he recovered himself and resumed climbing. He reached the 
top and climbed upon the roof, just as Helen came out of the scut- 
tle and fell fainting. She was closely followed by Benson, but be- 
fore he could harm her he was confronted by Tom, who grappled 
with him in a death struggle. Tom finally succeeded in hurling 
Benson upon the roof of the burning building below, through which 
he crashed down, down to his fiery doom. Tom raised Nellie in his 
arms as Biddy and Jim came up the scuttle in time to witness her 
rescue. The dense black smoke from the burning building below 
them hung like a pall over the scene, but as the flames roared and 
crackled in that portion of the house which was burning, they lighted 
up the central group with vivid brightness. No shadows now, but 
all in startling relief, against the inky midnight sky. There was but 
a brief moment, as Nellie clung to Tom in the bliss of their re-union 
even amidst such terrible surroundings, when the necessity for fur- 
ther efforts for safety became apparent as the flames increased. Their 
escape by the way they came was impossible, but by this time the alarm 
had been given, and the engines came thronging to the spot. A 
ladder was quickly reared against the back wail and a fireman 
mounted the roof, and Tom bearing Nellie in his strong arms carried 
her in safety to the ground, while Jim and the gallant member of 
the fire department assisted Biddy to descend in the same way. 
There is but little more to add. Tom's innocence was easily estab- 
lished, as Abe Nathans, after the death of his patron, and the knowl- 
edge that Nellie already knew their secret, was suddenly seized with 
a virtuous impulse to rerjair former injustice, and Tom was speedily 
a free man, with name and fame re-established. Nellie having ful- 
filled one pledge was not long in fulfilling the other, and made Tom 
the happiest husband in New York. We will not say that no clouds 
ever obscured their joint lives again, for 

*' Iuto each life some rain must fall, 
Some days be dark and dreary." 
But they were singularly exempt, and passed a happy and honored 
existence henceforward, even amidst the 

Shadows of a Great City. 



TO B^ PRODUCED 



The Following 1 Cast: 




Tom Cooper Frederic Paulding. 

George Benson O. H. Bar. 

A. Nathans, (a pawn broker) W. W. Allen. 

Abelis, (his clerk) . James Percy. * 

Jim Fairen George Edson . 

Arkwright, (a detective) W. Burton. 

Dorney, (a policeman) W. A. Paul. 

Hammond, " Geo. Lynch. 

Grouch, " Walter Barry. 

Biggs * Harry Ward. 

Dr. Swift Williai; 

Annie Standish Hiss Helen Tracy. 

Helen Standish Miss Adel Belgard. 

Biddy Nolan Miss Annie Yeamans 

Mrs. Higgins V Miss Mary Cook. 

Little Nellie Little Fannie. 



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